


Written In Our Bones

by AugustinianSeptember



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, M/M, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 04:14:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4045543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AugustinianSeptember/pseuds/AugustinianSeptember
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'You can go home-</p>
<p>-without me-</p>
<p>-and sleep-</p>
<p>-and maybe we’ll never see each other again.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Written In Our Bones

**Author's Note:**

> This pretty much wrote itself. Flashbacks, strange meeting places, odd ways to re-confess love.  
> Also warning for minor injuries I guess??

It’s usually the weaker days when his resolve fails him. It’s the days when he wanders aimlessly around the apartment, unable to ignore the memories. All of his things are gone, and yet everything reminds him so painfully of what he lost.

There’s the fireplace.

That makes Dan think of the time he accidentally set fire to his Calcifer plushie, the times spent sat in front of the warmth on cold winter mornings and nights, when the boiler broke and it was the only source of heat they had for a week. Apart from each other.

Then there’s the kitchen.

That reminds him of their cheesy cleaning-the-kitchen playlists on Spotify, dancing around the breakfast bar and forgetting to take the pan off the stove and burning their meal, being forced to order pizza, which is what he had wanted in the first place.

And the bedrooms…

Dan didn’t even want to consider the bedrooms.

He hasn’t been in _his_ room since he left. He doesn’t think he can bear to. His own room is bad enough.

Sometimes, when he wakes early in the morning and the duvet is rumpled and the light dim, he thinks he can see his outline beneath the covers.

It’s never real.

On these days he opens his laptop and goes to his youtube channel. He’s happy, or at least that’s how he seems in his videos. If he really can’t help himself then he’ll scroll through to their collab videos. They’re still online.

Dan hasn’t uploaded a video since he left, just over a year ago. But their legacy remains, the Dan vs Phil’s, the gaming channel, everything.

The comments beneath Phil’s videos are a flood of people asking where Dan is, why Phil is in a new apartment, what happened. Phil never replies to any of them. He doesn’t mention Dan in his videos, they’re no longer following each other on twitter, they’re not friends on facebook. Dan has deleted Phil’s number and he suspects Phil has done the same to his.

On these days it’s doubly difficult for Dan to leave the apartment, to make himself presentable and get on the tube to get to the BBC. But he does. He tries to lose himself in music during the journey, but every song reminds him of Phil, so he takes his headphones off and just sits in silence.

When he emerges into the evening, the air is cool. The sun is beginning to fade and the lights of the BBC studios have just been lit. Dan shoves his hands in his pockets and walks to the doors with his head down, shouldering them open. He’s already dreading the loneliness of the studio. It feels wrong with just him.

There was only one time, back when they were Dan and Phil, that he did the radio show on his own. Phil had been away in Florida. They had skyped during the show and it had broken Dan’s heart, how much it hurt to be away from each other, and how Phil obviously felt the same.

"Hey, Dan. Got everything planned out for the show?” That was his producer, Joanna, greeting him as he sets down his bag in the corner of the studio.

“Yeah. Yeah, everything planned.” Dan replies with a smile. It feels fake and difficult on his lips.

He has his own show on Radio One, now, every evening from eight until eleven, and late mornings on Saturdays. The BBC had always wanted them to do more radio, and if they couldn’t have them both, then they jumped at the chance to have one.

Dan begins to fiddle with the controls and pulls out the list of songs he wants to play today, the scrawled topics he wants to discuss. Everything on it is designed to stay as far away from Phil as it is possible to get; it always has been from the beginning. At some point he’s going to run out of safe topics, because almost everything makes him think of Phil.

Sometimes he wonders if he listens.

Then he berates himself for being stupid.

There’s been someone giving him requests for Phan songs lately. Toxic, Thinking Out Loud, all of those. Every song that’s been mentioned by this person has some sort of relation to _them_. Dan doesn’t know why he’s concluded that it’s one person, but it feels to him that it is.

It kills him, but it would be worse not to play them. People are already speculating; that would just be confirmation.

It’s the same as their relationship. Their break up was never announced to the fans, either.

Today it’s ‘Crazy In Love’. Dan announces it, plays the song, keeping his voice as nonchalant as possible.

“And now, here’s Beyonce’s ‘Crazy In Love’, for anonymous.”

The radio show – _his_ radio show, he reminds himself – is usually a safe place. It’s a neutral space, all equipment. No reminders of Phil. It’s odd to have that invaded, but there’s nothing to be done but his job.

By the time Dan removes his headphones it’s just gone eleven. He checks his phone and his stomach does an odd flip when he sees that he has a message, then drops slightly when he sees the name. PJ.

_'_ _Movie marathon tonight?’_

Dan had completely forgotten he’d even agreed to that. Time doesn’t seem to pass quite the same way for him as it does for others these days.

_‘I’m in.’_

After that it’s a confusing mixture of tubes and stations and cold night air before he finds himself being let in to PJ’s apartment.

“Hey. How did the show go?”

Dan just shrugs. He knows PJ listens; it feels pointless to answer, but he does anyway.

“It went fine.” He discards his coat and his shoes and joins Peej on the sofa.

The fact that Phil hadn’t gone for PJ had always surprised Dan. Even when they had been together, Phil had been rather entranced by him, his pale green eyes, dark hair, low tenor voice. Dan used to get jealous, sometimes.

And then Phil would get angry and accuse Dan of not trusting him enough.

Peej flicks through Netflix to a film that’s unfamiliar to Dan. Gradually, he relaxes, letting himself be drawn into the story as if seeking escape.

“So. Things going okay?” PJ asks.

Dan knows what he’s referring to. His response is elusive.

“Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

When he only receives silence, Dan’s gaze turns to his friend. He’s met with an unexpectedly piercing gaze. “What?”

“Nothing,” PJ returns his focus to the film. “You just don’t seem all that happy-“ He hesitates, on the edge of continuing, but stops himself at the last second. Dan narrows his eyes.

“I feel like you’re hiding something from me.” Again, no response. Dan suddenly has a hunch he knows what’s going on. “…Did you see Phil?”

PJ shifts uncomfortably, then nods.

“Yeah, I saw him.”

“Oh.” There’s a pause, where Dan isn’t quite sure how to proceed. “How is he?”

“He’s…” PJ bites his lip. “…unhappy.”

“Unhappy? Bloody hell, he left me, not the other way round. I would have thought he’d be off with someone else by now. There’s certainly no shortage of eager ones.” All of this is simply filler, to disguise Dan’s bewilderment. Phil should be happy. He’s gotten rid of the unhappiness in his life.

Dan _was_ that unhappiness.

“Yeah, well…it doesn’t always work out like that.”

Dan can’t stop toying with his fringe, a nervous habit of his when he’s over thinking. PJ picks up the remote.

“You know what? Let’s watch something more cheerful. Something funny.”

“Fine.” Dan shrugs.

Eventually, though, in the cosy atmosphere of Peej’s lounge and with his comments that are more hilarious than the comedy they’re watching, Dan forgets about Phil, even if just for an evening. Instead, he laughs. He doesn’t remember the last time he laughed.

They both fall asleep on the sofa and when Dan wakes, PJ is still fast asleep. He doesn’t want to wake him, so he scrawls him a quick thank you note and leaves.

The apartment is cold when he gets back. There’s no one except Dan to put the heating on anymore, so he shouldn’t be surprised, really.

He spends a few mindless hours browsing the internet before he decides he should probably eat something. The fridge is bare, verging on desolate; he desperately needs to go shopping. Thankfully, there are enough ingredients to make a simple stir fry and he gets to work, turning over ideas for the radio show in his head.

Throw the ingredients in the pan, poke them around, seasoning, add noodles. Cooking is mechanical for Dan, now, nothing like it used to be. That’s why he doesn’t notice when the food starts to burn, starts to smoke – he doesn’t register anything until one false move that brings the back of his hand directly into the heat.

“ _FUCK-“_

He’s not sure if he’s cursing at the charred food, or his smarting hand. Most likely the latter.

He rushes to the sink, abandoning the woeful attempt at a meal, runs the cold tap and hisses as the freezing water comes into contact with his skin. The burn is worse than he had thought, and damn, does it _hurt._ Dan’s shaking, then crying, then sobbing. He knows it isn’t just the stinging pain in his hand.

It’s been a year.

Dan has never cried over him before.

He’s never told anyone that, not even PJ. He suspects it would be deemed unhealthy. But now he’s crying, slumping down over the sink. This was what he needed: an excuse to let him sob. Even if it was something trivial, like a burnt hand.

Well, not quite so trivial. This is definitely going to warrant a trip to A&E, Dan decides resignedly, studying the wound with tired and tear-blurred eyes.

By the time he gets to the nearest A&E, it’s stinging more. There’s already someone at the desk, so he hangs back a little and waits.

“…and then I got up, and came straight here.” The guy’s voice holds an edge of pain, but he gives a small, self-effacing laugh. From behind Dan can’t see much apart from the fact that he’s obviously clutching at his right arm with his left.

“Alright, take a seat in the waiting room, and a doctor will see you as soon as possible, Mr Lester.”

_Mr-_

Dan barely has time to process it before Phil turns.

His blue eyes widen, and Dan suddenly regrets his decision to take a place in the line quite so close behind him. They’re practically face to face, so close that he can see all the green and yellow and blue hues of his eyes, and Phil can probably see that he’s been crying.

There’s a moment when Dan thinks he might say something, but then his lips purse, and he walks past him with a curt nod.

He should be relieved that he had at least acknowledged him, he thinks, although in truth, he feels infinitely worse.

“Sir?” The receptionist is looking at him expectantly. Dan comes to his senses and moves forward hastily, beginning to explain his predicament.

They end up sat in the same waiting room. Dimly, Dan feels as if he might recognise it, but all A&E waiting rooms look the same, so that’s unlikely.

There are a few other people there, and he and Phil determinedly avoid each other’s eyes. Just his presence makes Dan feel uncomfortable, though, and he gets up at intervals to pace. His hand is still stinging, the skin charred and blistered. He wishes he’d had the presence of mind to bring an ice pack or something.

The one glance he does sneak at Phil reveals him to be still clutching at his twisted arm, obviously in pain.

Slowly, gradually, everyone else is called in to see doctors – until just he and Phil are left at opposite sides of the room.

Of course it had to happen like this.

Dan sighs and runs the fingers of his uninjured hand through his hair. The universe must be against him, he laments to himself.

“Hey.” At first, he can’t work out where the voice had come from. Then it dawns on him; the only person it could have been is Phil. His suspicions are confirmed, when he continues,

“Dan?”

“Yeah?”

When he looks up, Phil is watching him. Somehow, he looks more tired than Dan remembers him being when they last saw each other.

“Are you okay?”

Dan blinks at the question.

“Yeah. I mean, other than being sat in A&E on a Saturday night having practically set fire to my hand.”

“I meant…” Phil falters, then shakes his head. “You have a point.”

“…What about you?”

“I’m alright. I just fell down the stairs, no big deal,” When he shrugs, he winces. “I was running. It was a stupid accident.”

“You’re talking to someone who burnt half the skin off their hand making stir fry.” Dan points out dryly. This elicits a giggle from Phil, short and a little stilted by pain. Dan smiles weakly. He’s missed that sound.

“Do you remember the last time we were here?”

Phil’s head is leaning back, against the back of the chair, and Dan wonders for a moment if he’s delirious from the pain of his arm. Then, he realises why it’s familiar.

_"You’re going to be okay, Dan. It’s all going to be fine.”_

_Phil’s hand moves in gentle, soothing circles against his abdomen. The left side is swollen, bruised-looking, and any more pressure than this is agony. Dan is lying across two seats, his head and shoulders on Phil’s lap._

_“You’re going to be okay…”_

_His breathing is stuttering again as fresh bursts of pain cut sharply into his side. It’s all Dan can do not to cry out. Nothing but a small whimper leaves his lips._

_“Breathe with me, Dan. In and out.”_

_He nods, focuses on Phil’s breathing, the steady way his chest rises and falls, his heartbeat thumping rhythmically. Tries to match his own with Phil’s._

_Eventually, it slows, and the hand that isn’t rubbing his abdomen comes up to stroke his hair._

_“You’re doing so well, Dan. It’s not going to be long until they call you in, alright? And then the pain will stop, I promise. They’ll know what to do.”_

“I thought I recognised it…” Dan replies. He realises with a jolt that Phil is sitting in the exact same seat as he had been the last time they were here. Odd coincidence.

“You were so small back then…” Phil murmurs. Dan smiles.

“You’re just bitter because I’m taller than you.”

_"Mr Howell?” Dan groans. He’s so dizzy and everything hurts. The last thing he wants to do is get up. Phil’s arms ease him up into a sitting position, and he hisses._

_“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Bear. But you need to get up. This is the last thing, and then this will be sorted. No more pain, alright? You can lie down again in the examining room.”_

_Dan takes a breath, closes his eyes. “…okay.”_

_Phil helps him up, strong but careful. Dan clings to him as he leads him from the room._

_Everything is pain and he never wants to let go._

They’ve lapsed into silence before a nurse appears in the doorway. “Mr Lester?”

Phil gets up, throws an unreadable look at Dan, and follows her out of the waiting room. Dan is only by himself for a minute or two before he’s being called in, for which he is infinitely glad. He doesn’t want to be alone with his thoughts anymore.

In some sort of fluke, they end up in opposite rooms. Dan can hear them as he’s having his hand treated and bandaged.

“-the x-ray shows it broken in three places-“

They must be casting Phil’s arm, because there’s a sudden yelp of pain and the unmistakable sound of Phil whimpering. It must be bad.

“Mr Lester, did you come here with anyone? Is there anyone we can call for you?”

“No, I-“ He cries out again, soft and pained. “…D-Dan. Could you get Dan?”

“I’m Dan!” He rushes out into the corridor, ignoring the bandages that are trailing from his hand.

“Mr Howell, please-“

But he’s gone, already, kneeling by Phil, who smiles at him through the tears that have collated at the corners of his eyes.

“Can I-“

Phil answers for him. He takes his uninjured hand, hangs on tight, as his right arm is straightened. His grip tightens with each spike of pain. Dan leans forward, whispers.

“It’s going to be okay, Phil. It’s all going to be okay. You’re going to be fine. You’re doing so well. The pain will be over soon. Then you can go home and sleep.” With a pang, Dan realises the implications of what he’s just said.

_You can go home-_

_-without me-_

_-and sleep-_

_-and maybe we’ll never see each other again._

Phil doesn’t seem to have realised. He looks up at Dan and nods, although his expression is contorted in pain.

“It’ll be okay.” He agrees breathlessly. The nurse hands him a mask, and Dan immediately knows what it is. Morphine. He was given it after he had his appendix out, the last time they were here.

Phil’s blue eyes become vacant as Dan watches. He keeps his hold on his hand, though. Dan has barely even noticed that his hand is being bandaged again, until the pain brings him back to the present.

“Ouch-“ He grits his teeth. The nurse casting Phil’s arm looks up at him and asks,

“Is there anyone that can take him home?”

Dan is at a loss for a second, then responds, “Me. I can.”

“Friend or family?”

_Boyfriend._ Dan recalls sharply when he was still able to say that.

“Friend.”

“Dan.” Phil is addressing him, his voice slurred and tearful.

“Yes, Phil, I’m here.”

“I want to go home, Dan.”

“You can go home once your cast is done, it won’t be long now.”

“No. No-not…I mean home.”

“Home?” Dan is totally at a loss.

“My apartment…not home. Our apartment…home.” Phil states, as if the distinction were obvious.

Dan wants to cry.

“Our apartment isn’t home anymore, Phil.”

His expression is so heartbreakingly confused, innocent, that Dan immediately backtracks.

“Okay, Phil. We can go home after this.”

He wonders how he’s going to explain this to Phil in the morning, once the affects of the drugs have worn off and he wakes up in his old bed. The way Dan sees it, he doesn’t really have an option. He has no idea where Phil’s new apartment is, and Phil himself isn’t exactly in any fit state to tell him at this point.

So he takes him home. Pulls back the green and blue duvet, tucks him in carefully and lies him on his back so that he won’t be putting weight on his arm.

The next morning Dan is up before Phil. His presence in the apartment is somehow comforting as he sips his coffee.

And yet, he still hasn’t begun to fathom what’s he’s going to say to him.

“…Dan?”

He’s run out of time to think. Phil is stood in the doorway to the lounge, arm still securely cast, hair messy and sleep rumpled. “What am I-“ He gestures around himself with his good arm.

At the fireplace, where they used to cuddle and watch the flames on cold nights.

At the sofa, where they used to hold Mario Kart battles that invariably led to pillow fights that, in their turn, led to kissing and lying in each other’s arms.

At the breakfast bar, where they used to eat together every morning. It was months before Dan stopped buying lactose free milk, too long before he realised that he didn’t need to any longer.

“They gave you morphine, and you kept asking to come back here, and I don’t know where your new apartment is and I didn’t want to leave you on your own, you were pretty out of it, so, uh…”

Mercifully, Phil doesn’t look angry. Just unsure of himself.

“Oh. Well, thanks. For not leaving me to crawl my way home.”

“No problem. How’s your arm?”

“I’ll live.”

“They gave me more painkillers for you. They’re on the kitchen counter.”

“Right. How’s your hand?”

“Fine. Just a burn.”

“A bad burn, it looked like.”

“Still just a burn. They took care of it.”

Phil seems at a loss as to what to say.

On impulse, Dan stands. “You’re still doing youtube, then.”

“Dan, stop. Please.”

“What?”

“We haven’t seen each other for a year. And now, we’re…here.”

Dan knows he’s referring to the odd situation. Admittedly, he’s not all that comfortable with it, either. For him, though, it’s not so much an unpleasant feeling. More anticipatory, uncertain

He almost trips over his own feet stumbling forward to stand before Phil.

“We’re here, yeah. We’re home.”

“Dan-“

“You said it, Phil. Not me.”

“I was high.” Phil half laughs, half sobs. His blue eyes stay fixed on Dan’s brown ones. Maybe he’s putting up a front; perhaps Dan just can’t read him any more.

“You were, a little…” Dan’s breath ghosts over his cheek, and Phil draws back, and time seems to go into fast forward.

“No, Dan. Stop it. I don’t know what you think this is, but…this isn’t us getting back together. I stand by our decision. My decision.”

He catches himself, instantly ashamed, and lowers his head. Dark chestnut hair falls over his eyes. “Of course. I’m sorry. I got carried away.”

Were this a fanfiction, they would fight, cry, fall in love all over again. Or realise they had never really fallen out of love in the first place.

Only, this is real life.

“Take the painkillers with you, then. I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah. See you, Dan. And thank you.”

“See you.”

Phil takes the packet, his soft footfalls retreat. A second later, the front door slams distantly.

“…Phil.”

Not until he’s half way down the road does Phil notice the black marker on his cast.

_‘Phil,_

_I know you gave up on me._

_I know it was my fault._

_I also know that I still love you._

_And that I’m sorry.'_

Six months later is when they next run into each other, and it couldn’t be more unwelcome, from Dan’s perspective. He’s been dating, for the first time since they ceased to exist. His name is Josh, an interior designer from Greenwich.

_Was._

They’ve just broken up. It was intense, short-lived, and burnt out quickly.

That’s really the only reason he can give for why he’s walking through the pouring rain at four in the morning. The rain drops trickling down his face barely register. Dan just feels numb. He doesn’t know what he feels.

Briefly, very briefly, he had felt the same sort of spark he had felt with Phil. He wants to recapture that, but now he’s lost the chance.

“Dan?” The figure before him is blurry, its only distinguishable features through the downpour a black umbrella and a purple galaxy-print coat.

“Phil…?”

“What are you doing out here?” Phil’s shoulder presses against his as he covers them both with the umbrella. Time feels jumpy, non-fluid to Dan. He doesn’t recall when Phil left his spot in front of him and moved to be next to him.

“I…things happened, I guess. Why are you even out here?”

Phil ignores the question.

“You’re soaked, Dan.”

As if discovering his own state for the first time, Dan looks down at his sodden jeans.

“…yeah. Yeah, I am, aren’t I?”

Phil shakes his head. His eyes are sad, faraway.

“It’s miles to your apartment,” Dan thinks its funny, how he assumes he still lives there. Maybe he thinks he’s never going to move on. Maybe Phil thinks he’s pathetic. Although, right now, he sort of is, he admits grudgingly to himself. “Mine is just up the road. I can lend you some dry clothes and you can stay until the rain stops.”

“Why?”

“Excuse me?”

“Why do you want to help me?”

There’s a moment where Phil looks as though he doesn’t know himself.

“I owe you. For my arm.”

“That wasn’t-“

“No arguments. Come with me.”

Obediently, Dan begins walking. Phil isn’t wearing a cast anymore; abruptly, what he wrote comes back to him, and he wants to kick himself for it.

“I guess your arm is better now, then.”

“Yeah. I’ve had the cast off for a few months, now. What about your hand?”

In all honesty, that part of their last encounter had totally slipped Dan’s mind.

“It’s fine. Like I said, it was just a burn.”

“A bad burn.”

“Why do I feel like we’ve had this conversation before?” Phil laughs, the sound muffled by the pouring rain. Even in his waterlogged, bereft state, Dan manages a smile.

They stop before a narrow apartment block and Phil buzzes them in. In the lift, Dan despondently watches the numbers slowly illuminate in turn as they pass each floor. Phil leads the way out when they reach the seventh, to a white door.

The space inside is so completely Phil that it almost hurts Dan to be there. He recognises several items that used to be theirs, jointly; the poster of Muse’s album covers, the plushie cat they bought in Japan. He’s so absorbed with his surroundings that he barely notices he’s dripping all over the carpet until Phil hands him a towel along with a hoodie and track suit bottoms.

“Oh, uh, thank you.” Dan stammers.

“Bathroom’s that way. You can change in there.”

The bathroom is brightly lit, stinging Dan’s eyes. He hasn’t slept since the night before and he’s exhausted, in every way possible.

When he re-emerges he’s dizzy. He stumbles back out into the lounge, puts out a hand to steady himself against the wall, misses-

“Woah. Lie down before you fall down.” Phil guides him to the sofa.

The rain is still falling outside, pattering against the windows. Dan can’t decide whether he wants it to stop as soon as possible or go on for as long as possible. Neither can Phil.

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but he does. Deeply.

When Dan wakes, Phil is nowhere to be seen. His head is pounding despite the quiet that signifies the rain has ceased.

Sighing, he raises one hand to rub roughly at his eyes, and in doing so catches sight of something on the inside of his left arm.

_‘Dan,_

_It wasn’t all your fault._

_It was mine too._

_If you don’t want to believe me, I wouldn’t blame you._

_But I think I made a mistake._

_I think I still love you, too.’_

He stares, turns his arm over and finds another, shorter, scrawled message.

‘P.s. I still think your hair is adorable when it’s curly.’

There’s movement from the vicinity of the doorway, prompting Dan to sit bolt upright.

“Phil?”

Hesitantly, he turns. He had been about to leave, judging from the shoes held in his right hand.

“Oh, you’re awake.” Clearly Phil hadn’t been counting on Dan waking up so soon. Dan doesn’t understand, but he also doesn’t need to understand. The response, six months later, is enough. Tears prick his eyes.

_"This isn’t going to work, Dan.”_

_"Why? Why isn’t it going to work, Phil?” He was shouting now. Phil remained frighteningly quiet, worryingly so._

_“We’ve been drifting away from each other since twenty-twelve. This was going to happen eventually.”_

_“What? What was going to happen eventually?” Phil turned his back. “Phil! Answer me! Phil…please…”_

_"_ _We were going to fall out of love. Or be exhausted by hiding it.”_

_"_ _No. No, Phil-“_

_“Dan. I have to go.”_

_“Where?”_

_“Goodbye, Dan.”_

_"_ _Phil? Phil, where are you going? I love you!”_

Phil stutters, starting to explain, but Dan crosses the room quickly and presses a rough kiss to his lips, rendering him silent. It’s awkward; they’re not used to each other anymore.

And yet, at the same time, perfect. It’s everything said and unsaid, everything done and not done.

God, Dan’s missed this.

“I’m sorry.”

"No, I’m sorry.”

They smile at each other. Tentative, with all the innocence of first love.

The two of them fall onto the sofa together and sleep, legs tangled together comfortably, through clear skies and the renewed onslaught of the rain.


End file.
